


Stand the Heat

by alternatealto



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Baking, Holidays, M/M, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 01:59:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16944831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alternatealto/pseuds/alternatealto
Summary: A shameless House/Wilson PWP, with added cookies!Originally published in 2009 as "One Step Ahead" on my LJ.





	Stand the Heat

**One Step Ahead**  
  
Wilson shoved the last pan into the dishwasher, closed the door and started the machine running before automatically starting to wipe down the countertops. Finished, he took a moment to let himself enjoy the sight of the platters full of treats for tomorrow’s holiday fund raising party for the Pediatric Oncology ward. The lunch would be catered, but it had been his idea to have the Oncology staff sign up to bring homemade dessert items. And naturally, as the department head he’d had to set an example. The results were there in front of him: twelve dozen brownies (in three variations: chocolate-chip-cherry, chocolate-chip-walnut, and peppermint stick) and four dozen chocolate-chip-cherry-walnut blondies. 

And, for once, he’d thought ahead. House wasn’t due in from work for another hour yet, but Wilson was taking no chances. A plate loaded with a generous allotment of each treat stood foremost on the counter, carefully covered in plastic wrap and with a large sign next to it that read prominently “HOUSE – THESE ARE YOURS.” It was, he well knew, the only way to keep House’s prying fingers out of the other platters. And the number of cookies heaped on the plate for House ought to be enough to make even him completely uninterested in sweets until at least some time tomorrow night.  Contented with a job well done, Wilson headed to his bathroom for a long, hot shower. 

Clean and relaxed and comfortable in gym pants and sweatshirt, he left their bedroom a while later, knowing from the sounds of the television in the living room that House was home. Wilson wandered that way to greet him, and smiled at the sight of House with crumbs in his beard. He congratulated himself again on his foresight in setting enough cookies aside for House to make him happy.

“These are great,” his friend told him enthusiastically, waving a brownie in the air, “You’ve outdone yourself this time; it’s a pity you’re going to waste them all on a bunch of overstuffed idiots who won’t be able to appreciate them.”

“It’s their overstuffed wallets we’re interested in,” Wilson reminded him. “If my baking puts them into a generous mood, so much the better.”

“It definitely puts  _me_  into a generous mood,” House told him, the look in his eyes making it plain that it wasn’t money he was talking about.

“Generous enough to pay for dinner?”  Wilson asked, pretending to misunderstand. 

House snorted.  “I thought these  _were_ dinner.  What more do we need?”  
  
“Milk, maybe,” Wilson suggested.

House raised a glass and grinned at him before taking a huge bite out of his brownie and washing it down.  Wilson sighed in pretended exasperation and headed for the kitchen in search of leftovers to heat for his own dinner.

The carnage that met his gaze stopped him dead in the doorway.

Every single tray of cookies he’d prepared for the party had been unwrapped and pilfered from. Every. Single. One.

The plate full of cookies he’d set aside for House was prominent at the front of the mess, still wrapped and completely untouched, the sign turned over and the words, “NO, THANKS” written – no, _smeared_  on the other side in melted chocolate.

Speechless, Wilson could only stare at the wreck of his carefully-arranged platters.  _I thought I’d found a way to prevent this,_ he thought in exasperation.  _I should have known better._

He would not –  _would not_ – give House the satisfaction of yelling, cursing, or reacting in any way whatsoever. He would just walk over there and re-fill the platters from the plateful he’d intended for House. If he didn’t respond, didn’t let House see that this annoyed him, then House would –  _just find some other way to aggravate me,_  he realized.  _It’s just what he does and god knows he’s good at it._

He went to the counter and got started. He was carefully rearranging the last tray when he heard the familiar uneven gait behind him.

“Tell me,” Wilson said, in a carefully neutral tone. “What is it with you? Is this some sort of territorial marking thing, or what?”

House had come up close behind him, so close that Wilson jumped a little when the deeper voice replied, “Nope. When I mark my territory, I do it like this,” and House’s arms came around him, pinning Wilson’s arms to his sides and holding them there firmly as House leaned in and proceeded to leave a large, bright, prominent love bite halfway down Wilson’s neck.

“Chocolate,” House breathed into his ear, “makes me lose control.” He bit again, sucking hard, making the mark even more brilliant against the skin of Wilson’s throat.

He ought to be mad. He really ought to . . . but having House so close, holding him so tightly and possessively this way, was something that always turned him on, and now House was mouthing softly at Wilson’s earlobe and muttering suggestions about what they could be doing instead of standing here, while his arms tightened their grip and he began to thrust his pelvis suggestively against Wilson’s ass. Wilson gasped and let his head fall back against the other man’s shoulder, and House deliberately scraped his stubble against the tender spot he’d just made on Wilson’s neck, then sank his teeth into Wilson’s collarbone and gnawed gently before pausing to ask in an offhand tone, “So, are we going to bed or am I just going to fuck you right here against the counter?”

“Bed sounds . . . good,” Wilson managed. Part of him was still trying to hold onto the annoyance he’d felt earlier, but that part was getting increasingly smaller and farther away. Other parts of him were getting increasingly larger, and he writhed a little as House reached down and palmed him firmly through the material of his gym pants.

_God -- how does he always get me so worked up so fast?_ Wilson moaned and rolled his head towards House, pleading wordlessly for a kiss. House obliged, making it deep and hot before moving his mouth down Wilson’s jaw, causing him to moan again and shudder a little.

“Slut,” House said, teasingly, nipping sharply at that same spot on Wilson’s neck, then laving it gently with his tongue as if to soothe him when he jumped in response.

Wilson rocked his hips back, grinding against the other man’s hardness. “Satyr,” he said in the same teasing tone when House groaned at the sensation. He tried to get a hand free to reach behind him and cup House the way House had cupped him, but House brought his arm up, tightened his hold and bit again at his neck. Wilson keened and went slightly limp against him.

“Forget bed,” House growled, then. “You’re getting it here and now,” and he pushed Wilson against the counter, then grabbed at the gym pants and pulled them down in one swift motion before unzipping his own jeans and dropping them and his briefs. A bottle of olive oil stood on the counter nearby, and House used a palmful of it to slick himself before pressing oiled fingers into Wilson, working him for a few seconds before pulling out, getting his cock into position, and shoving in, hard and fierce and sudden, Wilson yowling and pushing back hard against him in an exquisite mix of pleasure and pain.

The thrusts were deep and strong and steady, Wilson cursing and pleading for  _more, deeper_ , House cursing back and promising to split him open, both of them lost in lust and heat and sensation, rocking, thrusting, groaning, loving every move. Finally, House’s gasping breaths became harsh and irregular and he brought his oil-slicked hand around to jerk Wilson’s cock in time to the pounding beat of their fucking. Wilson arched and stiffened against him, shouting nonsense as his climax took him violently, hearing House give a deep moan and then feeling the strong hard pulses of his lover’s orgasm inside him.

They remained locked together, gasping, as they came down from the high.

When House finally slipped out of him, Wilson turned for another kiss, then wet a dishtowel and cleaned both of them, as well as the cabinet he’d doused in semen. Slowly, they both moved toward their bedroom, climbed into bed, and sank into a deep slumber.

Wilson woke in the morning with a deep sense of happiness that lasted all the way until he saw his own reflection in the mirror. The entire left side of his neck was bright red with love bites – and the luncheon today had been specified as casual, there was no way he could wear a collared shirt and tie in an effort to hide the marks. Exasperated, he stormed out of the bathroom – to see House, smirking and holding up a turtleneck sweater in exactly the shade of brown that emphasized Wilson’s eyes.

As always, one step ahead.


End file.
